The power of magic
by Cheezewizz
Summary: powerful!harry harry, abused by the dursleys reaches a breaking point. his magic and his mind fuse together. will this mysterious scarred boy be able to live again? will he kill voldy? Warning: ABUSE and dark themes
1. Chapter 1

-1The door slammed shut. Harry fancied it was some sort of symbolism or dark omen about this summer. It's the last one, he thought, the last one until I'm out of here. He knew the door wouldn't be able to express the complexities behind his stay at his relative's house. Harry had no illusions about this place. It was not home, it was not nice; it was never at all hospitable for him. Harry knew that, other than the 6 half years he had experienced at Hogwarts, this place was his life. And it was a grim one indeed.

Vernon trundled over to him, a vicious smirk on his face. Harry knew what was coming; he had been dreading it since he said goodbye to his friends at the station. He told himself that the anticipation for the thing and the increasing tension in the car on the drive home was worse than the actual beating. But of course he was wrong.

His uncle drew back his fist and let it fly in a round, amateur swing at his nephews head. Pain exploded in Harry's cheek and mouth as he bit his tongue and fell to the ground on his knees. Vernon kicked him and began smashing the boy as hard as he could.

Harry had never been stupid. He knew how to avoid bullies and he had learned over the years how to fight them. He, who had faced the most powerful dark wizard since Slytherin himself and lived, could stand up to one fat muggle.

No, Harry took the beating for another reason entirely. He knew his own worth perfectly. He was not particularly special in any real way but the wizarding world saw him as their savior. He had vanquished the great tyrant at the pure and angelic age of one. He was their symbol to which they would rally when the snake decided to appear publicly. For this reason, harry was essential to winning the war and must not allow Voldemort to get him. Dumbledore was convinced he wouldn't be touched at his aunt's house and he had little doubt that if he stood up to Vernon, he would be kicked out immediately.

So Harry endured it. Who ever knew fame hurt so much? There was a deeper reason for his stay as well. If harry took the time to analyze it, he would probably begin to hate Dumbledore for his entire involvement in his life. Harry knew that Dumbledore had put him here and would much rather take a beating or two than the headmaster find out that his perfect plans for his perfect weapon would turn out ruined due to low self esteem issues. The old man would never forgive himself and would probably waste away due to the realization of his own mistake. Never for a moment did harry think he would feel remorse about Harry's actual experiences at the Dursleys. The headmaster did not think in such terms. He was strange, knowing a boy needed a childhood and planning for him to have one, refusing to tell him things about the war such as the prophesy, but never actually caring for the boy at all. Dumbledore manipulated people. It was his only passion. His failed weapon would be the only reason behind any remorse.

Vernon succeeded in breaking the skin on his last kick to Harry's back. Harry had long since curled up in a ball to protect himself as much as possible. As a child he had learned to wait the beatings out patiently, knowing Vernon would get tired and leave eventually. But harry knew that today was different. It was in his eyes, in the way he kicked him. Today's "lesson" was actually going to teach the freak something, no matter how long it took to beat it into him.

Though his logic was a little skewed, his aim was dead on and Harry knew he was getting in trouble. The annual first day of the summer beating had never gone on so long before. Harry was beginning to whimper, something he hadn't done since before he had accepted his beatings as his lot in life. Suddenly the kicks stopped, and for a brief fraction of a second harry believed it to be over. But the sweaty and meaty hand that suddenly clamped to his wrist told him otherwise.

Like a cat with a mouse, Vernon spun Harry out of his tight fetal position and slammed the boy into the wall, momentarily dazing him. Vernon took the time to quickly tie his wrists to the banister behind him. Harry thought with a half chuckle that it was truly ironic that he was about to be beaten horribly right in front of the one place he always ended up after a beating; the cupboard under the stairs.

Vernon was nothing if not predictable. Harry knew what was coming next. This had never happened before but harry knew, because it was his last annual first day of the summer beating, Vernon would want to make it extra special. So far nothing had been said. The only sound was Vernon's heavy breathing, Harry's wet lunged gasps, cries, and yelps, and the sickening thwump of fist hitting flesh.

Now Vernon grinned satanically. He couldn't help making a jibe at the freak boy, "It sounds like you're enjoying this, freak! Getting a rise out of this, you masochistic bastard?! Well let's see how you hold out now. You will love what's coming up next." Harry almost refrained from correcting Vernon's pronunciation but he figured he had very little to lose as he was tied to a wall and being beaten already. "It's maso-chist-ic." He patronized. The effect was ruined of course by the heavy gasps and coughs he was emitting.

Vernon's face turned a deep purple and rage swirled off of him in a cloud like steam. He began ranting about filthy no good freaks at which point harry tuned out, unable to hear anything above the roar of pain as vernon punctuated his tirade with his fists, holding stone paperweights from a nearby desk in each hand to deliver even more pain. Harry lost his concept of time and place as the beating progressed further.

Harry's eyes snapped open. Fuck. He wished he had stopped Vernon when he had the chance. Now he knew he must be in the cupboard, almost unable to move because of his injuries. Then he blinked. His eyes widened. He had finally registered his surroundings. He was standing upright, sagging against the ties on his wrist. He was still on the bloody banister. And as he looked up at his mangled arms, he realized the banister really was bloody. In fact, blood had dripped all the way down to the ground over the flower print wallpaper.

He looked at it with disgust etched in his face. Just another chore petunia would assign him. Scrubbing his good for nothing blood off the stairs. He could imagine her now, her angry horse-face glaring down at him and telling him in no uncertain terms exactly where she'd lock him up without food and for how long if he didn't clean it immediately.

There was a creak from the landing upstairs. Harry froze, his natural fear paralyzing him. He had felt that jolt constantly since his 4rth birthday when he had gotten his first beating. It was short but it had stayed with him as the first, and therefore worst of all of those he had endured. Whenever his uncle was near, harry's innards churned into a disgusting bog of fear and loathing. He was good at acting under pressure. Learning to have the presence of mind to position himself right so that the beating wasn't as bad or to best act so that vernon lost interest had taught him a great deal about reacting to situations. A duel with the dark lord? Sure. Piece of cake next to Vernon's fat fingers.

He had thought during his third year he could be free of Vernon. But Dumbledore had sent him back. He never trusted anyone ever again. Not even Ron or Hermione knew what harry had gone through. As the creaks receded harry relaxed slowly. Ok think about this logically. What should I do about this being tied to the wall thing. Obvious. Absolutely nothing. It wasn't like he could do anything anyway. No wand, no knife, no escape.

He slumped back, using the wall as much as possible. He hurt and ached all over. He could not put his weight on one foot, which Vernon had jumped on repeatedly, smashing it into an unrecognizable position and splintering his bones. His body would be black and blue and cut and scraped if anyone was to peer beneath the tattered and blood soaked shirt he wore. It was a Chudley cannons shirt, one Ron had given him a month before and harry knew he couldn't ever wear it again. He'd have to tell Ron he lost it.

Suddenly the backdoor opened and shut. Harry wasn't worried though. Vernon never used the back door. By the natural light coming in from the window above the front door, Harry determined it was about midday. Vernon was at work. Harry had been on the banister all night. Petunia walked into the hall and scrunched her nose up at the smell of blood.

"You filthy boy." She said scornfully, her nasal screech lowered in disgust. "Vernon and I have decided to leave you there. You and your good-for-nothing parents will no longer haunt this house. You will be stringed there as an example of your lowliness. Freak!" She hissed this last, gave him a light kick in the shin, and promptly continued her business.

Shit, Harry thought. Shitshitshit.

The situation was really coming home to him. He knew he was strong willed but could he survive this kind of persecution? He was like Jesus without the cross or the unfortunate nails. Plus, he supposed, he wasn't naked. That was a good thing. He managed a week smile; he certainly had the horde of followers. Oh god. Did he just honestly compare himself to Jesus? That was rich.

Harry's brave front was beginning to crumble. He held his mask together but he knew it was only a matter of time. Nearly 16 years of verbal and physical abuse was building up. He couldn't keep lying to himself and telling himself he would be ok. But he did anyway.

When Vernon got home he kicked Harry a little but mostly left him alone. He knew ignoring the boy would frustrate him further. Once Dudley got home, he guffawed at Harry's state. This was a truly vindictive house. Dudley grinned and dashed upstairs. Harry felt a little apprehensive.

Dudley came back down carrying a black case and slowly approached Harry as though he were a wild animal. He unzipped it to reveal his mothers makeup case. With growing alarm harry began to struggle but that hurt far too much. He turned his head as far from Dudley as possible but, despite the boy's pathetic fat, he did have some meat to his arms and he grabbed harry's head and turned it back. Harry, too weak to protest, could only watch in terror as his hideous cousin began drawing on his mottled face.

When he was done, Harry sagged down, feeling utterly defeated. His mask cracked a bit more. His soul cracked. He was utterly humiliated. Harry passed two days in silence. Petunia would bring out water and a piece of bread twice a day but he was otherwise ignored. Harry begged Petunia to bring him to the bathroom, which she denied but instead had Dudley bring him a bucket in which to relieve himself. Petunia did not want to smell urine along with blood in her precious house. It was disgusting enough with just that.

Hedwig returned from Ron's house the next day. He had sent her there at the train platform, knowing Vernon would have his way with him and she would likely attempt to defend him; something that definitely would not go over well. Harry didn't know she had come back. He hadn't even thought of her. Needless to say he was quite shocked when Vernon came into the hall after his dinner, holding hedwig.

In death, she looked skeletal, unmoving and starved. Harry knew she wasn't but she looked so fragile and he was wholly unprepared for the emotions that overwhelmed him at the sight. Her normally perfect feathers were skewed at different angles, which no self-respecting bird would allow. Her eves were wide open in dead fury and her claws were curled. She was stiff from rigor mortis and her wings were half spread; Vernon was holding her upside down and carelessly swinging her a little.

After a stunned pause, Harry let out a wretched sobbing moan in pure hatred, regret, and loneliness. His beloved pet was dead. she was gone. He had nothing. He sobbed against his bindings, sagging lower and weeping in defeat. He broke. His soul broke. His heart broke. He had been strung up on a wall half dead from pain and injuries, starved, jeered at and alone for 4 days and now his beloved hedwig was dead by the hands of his all-powerful captors. His knees trembled in fear. But mostly he was overcome with hatred. For Dumbledore. For Vernon. But mostly for himself.

His head lying on one arm and his legs almost given out beneath him, he cried, tear tracks running through his heavy makeup. Vernon was delighted at the response and yelled for Dudley. Dudley entered the room and raised a camera. The flash of a bulb revealed Harry in all his gory detail. The bright clown coloring on top of his blue and yellow skin, The cheap light casting the hall in gray shades and his dull green eyes, still more colorful than everything else yet unlit and more dead than the killing curse could ever make them. It was a very morbid picture. Deciding he didn't like it, Dudley shoved the photo in Harry's pants. It was of him after all.

The next day they unstrung him. Vernon would be having guests for dinner and they didn't think the half dead and tortured boy would look respectable. No matter how Vernon punched or prodded at his old wounds, he could not make Harry move of his on volition to clean the blood from the wall. Petunia finally ended up doing it, throwing Harry in the cupboard and promising a punishment for his reluctance. Harry didn't care.

Stuck in his cupboard once more, Harry felt the walls cave on him like never before. They came closer, confining him and cramping him like they never had before. He let out a quiet mournful cheep. He curled up despite his fiery wounds and thought. His soul hurt so much. He never really knew that something could tear so much at him. The very stuff that made him who he was, was torn and disfigured by the turmoil of completely wild and rampaging emotions. They had been building up. everything bad that ever happened in his life was building up, waiting for release, and that was a lot of stored up bad. He felt how close to madness he was and instead of drawing away and letting reason solidify him, he let himself go.

The ripped and hurt part was torn completely from him. He lost a bit of himself to this experience. He changed far more than he ever had before. His parents, Sirius, Cedric; none of these people had hurt him like he was hurting now. The was a dirty and disgusting betrayal. This smacked of real life and real pain.

Harry realized how absolutely disgusting the world really was. The others' deaths had been innocent. He had grieved and moved on. This...this was him dying. This was Harry feeling things no man should ever feel. This was the pain of war, though no battle lines were in sight. He couldn't explain it.

While his heart destroyed him or perhaps, was destroyed, his mind was in overdrive. He knew how to react. And suddenly the world stopped. His thoughts stopped, his aching feelings would never stop but his paradox of emotions and chaos calmed. His injuries ignored, and the laughter of the men from Grunnings sitting at Vernon's dinner table being nothing but background noise, Harry, then and there, made a conscious decision.

Taking everything into account and viewing it objectively, he approved it and relaxed. His body did not release its hold on hurting muscles and his feelings did not subside. Instead, he relaxed his mind in a way he had never done before. Much like moving your ears or one eyebrow, Harry let go of a 'muscle' in his mind he never knew he had been holding. He had known, subconsciously for as long as he could remember that he could do it. But he never allowed himself to. It was too dangerous. He would rather die than let the torrent of wildness behind his mind flood it.

But he had hadn't he? He had died this week. He had died when he was one and sent to his relatives. He had died the first time they hit him and every time since then. He had died when Hedwig died. Harry let the gates fall open and white light claimed his mind while blackness claimed the rest of him.

When Harry awoke, it was not pain or despair that made him scream. It was not madness, though that might be disputable. It wasn't in fear or loathing. Harry Potter screamed at the strangeness, the weird feeling in his mind. It was filled with a light and smoke-like liquid, it was burning with green flames, it was a white vacuum.

He stopped himself almost immediately. The return of conscious thought allowed for adaptation. He opened his eyes and Saw. His perspective on everything had changed. The cupboard was no longer a dark space with stairs for a ceiling. It was a structure of fibers of torn up organic material. It had 56 darks spots where knots were in the wood, thousands of cobwebs of crystal drifted in its corners, 4 large spiders and 3 smaller ones had taken up residence in various parts of the space. It had 14 planes which boxed him in. The smallest detail was apparent, not a single shadow hindered his view. His glasses were no longer necessary, which was just as well, considering his uncle had snapped them 2 nights before.

After a few moments, Harry, thoroughly bored with sensory overload, chose to ignore the newfound detail in his sight and explored his other changes. He was not any stronger, any less hungry, or less injured than he had been. His mind seemed invaded. But that wasn't quite right. His mind seemed like he had two halves, which before now had remained separate, and now were together as one. He sat up slowly, careful of his broken bones, and looked to each side and then behind him. He froze.

There, like he was seeing heat residue, he saw an impression of white. It glowed softly. He looked at his hands and waved them through the hair and was both amazed and not at all surprised to see a trail of light follow the hand. this, like his sight, he discovered he could ignore. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened to him.

Over the next hour he replayed what had happened and what the strangeness felt like in his mind. He decided that it was his magic. Of course he knew it was related to magic. But Harry decided that his "floodgate" was his resistance to magic. He simply stopped resisting. This of course posed many questions about the theory behind magic and its existence and its relation to wizards. But for now, Harry accepted that his mind had combined with his magic and that the residue of white was his own magical signature.

For five hours Harry pondered his life. It sucked a little but he was grateful. He knew he was in a pretty bad place. He felt it deep in his shredded heart. But Harry also knew that his magic was helping. It was cushioning him from himself, allowing him to think rationally.

First order of business; get out. Simple. He left. Just like that. He was gone. He had suspected, and now confirmed, that with his transformation, he had incorporated magic enough that he could be magical. He didn't apparate. He simply left. And appeared outside a large white muggle building.

Oh I must be hurt, he thought, to have brought myself to a hospital. I hate hospitals. He was still half laying down so it was with some considerable surprise that he saw a large and very heavy bus coming for him to his right. He attempted to scurry out of the way but was just too weak and uncaring. The bus screeched as it hit the breaks, trying not to hit the puppet in the road, the boy with strings around his wrists and a painted doll face.

Jane Coburn watched frightfully as a bus sped towards a boy who had fallen in the road. She had just been on ambulance duty and came outside to collect the next emergency victim. Without a single ambulance in sight, she glanced up the street to see the boy about to be run over. To her amazement, as the air pressure tires blew as hard as they could, the boy threw up a hand, and the bus just managed to stop exactly in front of his hand.

She ran towards him, heart thumping at the close call. She was by no means reassured when, as she came beside him, her words died on her lips and his head turned to look at her. Sad dead green eyes stared up at her and she gasped in horror at the mutilated clown she observed. People were running around her now, a stretcher was retrieved from the hospital. She tried as hard as she could but was unable to tear her eyes away from his. Only when he was wheeled away for immediate medical attention and surgery was she able to look up, shake herself, and cry for him.

Jane watched the boy sleeping so restlessly before her. The paint cleared off and the blood wiped away, he turned into a bruised and infected little boy. He seemed at first glance to be 15 but a closer inspection revealed the maturity in his features and the lack of baby fat in his face. He then appeared to be 30 or so with the pain and sorrow etched in his face. But without wrinkles and age lines, he really was only 17 or 18.

The poor boy had been put through so much. As she stared at him, his eyes snapped open. She jumped, adrenaline pumping through her veins at her fright. "Hello." She managed. "Could you tell us who you are? Who did this to you?" She used a sweet and gentle voice. The one she used with rabbits and hurt or abused children.

Despite her voice, she didn't think this boy needed to coddled. He seemed to be incredibly resilient. He was strong. She could see it in the way he held himself. He was broken, but not completely and not to the extent that it could not be fixed. Or at least repaired. She didn't think he would ever be a boy again.

The list of his injuries was ghastly. She didn't know how he was even alive. He had been like this for days. He was severely dehydrated and his stomach was completely empty, allowing for immediate surgery. He had doctors working on him all night, fixing his foot, closing off bleeding internal arteries, and painstakingly extracting splintered bones. The boy's ribs were all cracked or broken, one having punctured his lung. His right foot and leg were mangled but he would be able to use them again. His foot needed supplementary bones and his leg needed a cast to help heal in three places. His face had been a mess but mostly due to cuts and swelling. He had a high fever when he was admitted to the hospital but they managed to pack him with ice and lower it. He would have died if they hadn't gotten to him 20 or even 15 minutes later.

How he moved at all was beyond her. Parts of his vertebrae were chipped. She had never really seen anything like it. It was obvious to her that these injuries were the least of his worries. She didn't know how, but she knew he had experienced far worse than it seemed.

Harry just looked at the observant nurse. She didn't look down at his injuries in worry, she looked into his eyes with worry. He was surprised that someone so used to treating the physical maladies of people would be so perceptive as to step beyond that limit and worry after mental health. This woman, he realized, needed a smile. So he attempted one. It was strained, small, and hurt him a great deal but for all that, it was truly genuine.

His smile made her heart melt. She knew he wouldn't say anything. his smile said "I'm ok. Honest. Don't worry about me." It was also stubborn. He wouldn't tell. She sighed and smiled heartbrokenly back at him. She tucked him in and kissed his head, something she had never done to anyone before. He needed love. The poor boy didn't look like he'd ever had any. She left but vowed to check on him constantly.

Harry was surprised. She seemed to care for him unconditionally. She was a marvel. Fe slowly drifted in and out of sleep for the next week.

Harry was bored. he knew he could heal himself faster outside of the hospital. He just needed to get out. So far they weren't releasing him. Finally he got fed up.

He got out of bed, clad only in shorts he had been given of the plain white variety. The white seemed to emphasize his sickly pale skin. His cuts and fading bruises were extremely obvious. He tore off unnecessary bandages and the monitoring devices and walked (actually walked on his injured foot!) calmly and determinedly to the main desk down the hall.

Patients, nurses, and doctors alike all stopped and starred as he walked by. No one had ever seen someone as fucked up as Harry Potter. A slight humorless smile marred his features, which, despite the bruises was in fact quite beautiful. A smile on such a gaunt and strangely alluring figure was altogether creepy and uncomfortable. He walked in the sudden silence to the desk and, very politely asked "May I go now? Please?"

The receptionist was shocked. The mangled boy she had witnessed getting a lung transplant a week ago was here, staring intently into her eyes and asking to leave. Not only was this strange but these were the first reported words he had spoken in the hospital.

Jane, who had been walking in the corridor was no less shocked. She dropped a clipboard after this question and seemed to break the silence. Doctors were suddenly swarming the poor boy, trying to gauge how he was standing without dying of agony. Collectively they decided he was remarkable. Jane, about to pull the hordes away from her John Doe in case he got frightened, slowed and stopped herself. He was calmly allowing them to touch and move him about. He didn't really seem to care about the crowd. In fact, he seemed slightly bored.

Harry was sick of hospitals. He was sick of doctors and sick of white clothing and white walls. He was sick of so little color. In his hand he clutched the photograph Dudley had taken. It was really one of the only things he was glad didn't have much color. Color would be like it was celebrating his horrible state. Only the face paint seemed to celebrate anything in the picture and that was a kind of morbid celebration.

He knew Jane had seen the picture. He had tried to hide it but she was given charge of his possessions after he was stripped for the operating table. She had burned his clothing but had kept the picture. She mentioned it to him one day. He had simply held out his hand and she had placed it there. He tucked it away without looking at it. He knew what it looked like, despite never having seen it before.

Finally getting tired of being prodded painfully, Harry, previously unresponsive, suddenly sent energy to his limbs and, striking a menacing pose, he bugged out his eyes and said in a low but unemotional voice "Boo." The doctors all jumped back in surprise and fright. Harry just stood up straight, and rolled his eyes.

He walked calmly over to Jane and said clearly and in a very sophisticated manner, "Ms. Coburn, I apologize for not answering any of your previous questions. Firstly, my name is Harry and it is a pleasure to meet you. As to who did this to me, the answer is quite simple; my relatives of course. They can be quite nasty sometimes." He said this with an apologetic grin, looking a little more human but generally still creepy.

"I wish you all a pleasant day and thank you for the medical assistance. I will pay my bills shortly but for right now, I feel quite tired of hospitals. So I bid you all adieu." And with that, Harry Potter, savior of the world, chosen one, boy-who-lived walked nearly starkers out into the streets of muggle London leaving behind some very lowly dropped jaws.

SO! thats my first fic. more chapters to come if people like it. i would love some constructrive critique. im worried im taking it too fast...

anyway, thanks for reading


	2. Chapter 2

So what do I do now that I have nowhere to go, nothing to be, and nothing to wear? Harry was drawing a lot of glances. He was rather mangled after all. Slowly and deliberately, he situated himself in an alley a block down from the hospital. It was a cheery day, which seemed to lift his spirits for the first real day of his now Vernon-less life. The first priority, he supposed, was to take care of his body.

He focused on his magic as he crouched in the mouth of an alley. Heal, he thought. Heal! But nothing happened. His magic didn't really want to work that way. It seemed to swirl in confusion. Well what exactly was he trying to do? He focused harder. Heal the cuts. Heal the bruises. Heal the bones. A tense silence produced nothing and he slumped, defeated. 'Heal' is not a very obvious command.

Harry grimaced as he realized he didn't really understand enough about his body to heal it. Simply knitting his tissues together wasn't going to help him. He vaguely recalled learning about cells and the properties of life but brushed it off and changed priorities.

He sighed. Ok. Now how about some clothes. He looked around as though he might find a suitable outfit lying on one of the trash bins and crates before him. Finding nothing, he carefully brought himself to a standing position, twisting in odd ways to avoid straining some of the more painful areas. He could see a nurse up the street searching for him and surmised that she wasn't the only one.

He waited for a group of pedestrians to walk past and intermingled among them. He received a lot of outright stares but he managed to duck into a long alley that would connect to another main road and keep him out of the way of prying eyes.

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To say that he surprised the clerk of Burton's Designer Clothing was an understatement. The poor man was left gaping and speechless at the sight of the derelict figure which trudged toward him across his bright white carpet. It really was a marvel that not a speck of dirt could be seen on its pristine surface. "Erm…Can I help you Sir?" He was at a loss about what to say. They hadn't covered this in orientation. He looked at the half-dead boy in amazed disgust.

Harry smiled. He was beginning to enjoy shocking people. For some strange reason, he really no longer cared about what happened to him and therefore was not at all uncomfortable as he might have been before. He was rather proud of his body, beneath the signs of beatings and fatigue. It was quidditch honed and defined enough to cause a few girls to swoon.

He knew because he had gone swimming in the lake with Ron while everyone was lazing about outside after exams. Even Hermione had blushed as he pulled his shirt over his head. Lavender Brown, one of the Patil twins, and a 3rd year hufflepuff had been near by at the time and they fainted breathlessly into the arms of their companions. Flustered, they gushed to each other about him, making him go red in the face and telling Ron that his redheaded friend had a way with the ladies. To his surprise, Ron had laughed uproariously and assured him in no uncertain terms that Harry had one of the sexiest, most-talked-about bodies in the school but that Ron himself wasn't worried because Harry was completely oblivious to it and wouldn't know if a girl was interested in him if she outright kissed him.

To change the subject, Harry started a splashing fight which he badly lost due to Ron's superior experience. Harry didn't see how the girls could even tell he was 'sexy' considering that had been the first time all year that he had taken off his shirt. He had to make sure that his scars from Vernon were not noticeable before he could allow it to be seen. That's the last thing I need, he had thought, to have the wizarding world begin hating muggles because they hurt their precious boy-who-lived. That would be Voldy's perfect weapon.

Harry smirked inwardly. He wanted clothing but doubted a nearly naked, beaten, and gaunt person could walk into a designer clothing store and expect to buy anything. He put on a very convincing sophisticated accent which one only hears in the rich southern families and private schools of Britain.

"Please, I was mugged. I have never been so humiliated in my life. I would love if you could outfit me with something tasteful? I will call my bank and have them send a credit card immediately in order to pay you for my purchases."

Here Harry flashed the obviously flamboyant man a disarming smile that smoke of sheepish confidence. His compulsion charm probably helped his case. The clerk began to return a smile. This man's godlike torso was gorgeous. He could see him in the darker outfits that were recently shipped in. He'd say that he could see him out of his clothes too but…well that was a given. The clerk brightened and all but ran to the back of the shop.

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"Ow." Harry commented mildly. The pin hadn't really hurt but he was getting impatient. Harry was renowned for his patience. He had been in the store for over an hour. So far he had accumulated a black sports coat, black slacks, and a black sweater. Harry didn't understand why he was "becoming in dark shades" but he figured it might be another thing he had inherited from Voldy. He really did have a flair for fashion. All the man ever wore was black robes. Harry was sure he and Snape shared tailors.

In addition to his black ensemble, Harry had acquired a deep green long sleeved T and a pair of jeans even he thought were flattering. The green made his eyes sparkle and gave them a piercing quality that was only otherwise obvious when he was staring directly at you. Currently he was being fitted for a pair of dress pants and a fitted colored shirt in respective black and gray.

What he would do with all of it, Harry wasn't sure. He was at the mercy of his over enthusiastic clerk. 2 casual ensembles, 3 pairs of shoes, and one ribbed black turtleneck later, Harry declared that he would die of exhaustion trying to transport this cloth mountain home.

"All right then Mr. Potter," the clerk smiled warmly up at him "your total comes to 1525 pounds." He winked good naturedly up at him, flirting outrageously as he had been for the entire session.

Harry just smiled slightly. That was what, 20 galleons? He borrowed the store phone and called Gringott's muggle line, asking for a 'credit card' that would allow him to pay. A few minutes later, a young man looking very out of place in muggle clothing walked into the store. After the first wide eyed recognition, the man remained strictly business, discreetly checking that his magical signature matched the vault and activating the card.

Harry handed the card over to the clerk who rang it up and gave Harry his bags. Harry walked out wearing a navy blue T shirt and jeans. He decided he actually liked his new purchases. Other than the remaining bruises on his face and the now obvious limp in his right leg, Harry thought he looked smashing. It seems, he thought as he looked across the street to catch the eyes of a young college student, that he was doomed to turn heads.

Armed with his new clothing and credit card, Harry went for a walk to determine his next course of action. Unaware of his location, he walked in any direction his feet carried him, deep in thought. He felt around as he walked, watching the people of London. He passed a few wizards during the course of the day, one walking in outrageous neon colors and the other completely oblivious to that fact that she had magic potential at all.

He felt the muggles around him and found their own innate magic, different and somehow more pure than that of wizards. The muggles magic seemed to be a part of them. They seemed to live with it, lending it to the strengthening of their souls. It was a bright feeling of purity without biased labels of good and evil. He smiled at the particularly strong feelings he got from a young girl licking a lolly. The smile twisted his face slightly, making him scare her and he watched as she ran away. Muggles, it seemed, were magical creatures. Harry was amused at this revelation.

He walked along a particularly long street, avoiding touching anything he didn't have to. People skirted him, instinctually knowing that he was not to be bothered or annoyed. He wouldn't have done anything if they hadn't avoided him, but his aura was powerful and terrifying.

As he strode across a cross walk, the setting rays of sun that lanced over the buildings started to ripple and tremble. He watched as the magic flayed and his senses began going haywire. The feeling of fear and confusion wafted to him on a magical breeze. Where was it coming from? No matter. Harry thought himself to the place.

He opened his eyes and was confronted with the sight of Gringotts shining in the setting sun. He frowned. What…? He turned around. Ah. Before him, Diagon alley teamed with people running for their lives. Death eaters were erupting from the leaky cauldron and the surrounding stores. They made their way towards the bank, killing and maiming as they plowed through. Their wake left dying children. Their path was cleared by falling bodies.

Harry's frown deepened. That wasn't very nice of them. He closed his eyes again and drew in a breath. The breath came not as it would normally, but instead seemed to rasp. It was long and deep and the rushing air seemed to cool his skin, causing ice crystals to form on him.

ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ

Macnair shot another spell at a helpless shopper. This was just like the old days. He grinned angrily and sent the killing curse towards a baby in her mother's arms. The mother shrieked as the child went limp in a flash of green light.

"NOO! Nathan! PLEASE!" She sobbed, clutching her child and falling to her knees, forgetting the chaos around her. She screamed in hoarse sorrow, tears pouring down her cheeks. She felt a great ache in her heart. She looked up into the cruel eyes of her attacker. He simply walked past her, ignoring her. She felt indignation just before she lost all thoughts, feeling only her spurting blood from her neck as the man's trailing hand slashed behind him and cut her throat.

Macnair strode on as a thud heralded the passing of the mother. He saw a young red head fall to his right at the hands of his companions. He lowered his eyes and snapped his wand up towards a motionless figure on the steps of the bank.

"Avada Kadavra!" he spoke without thought or care.

As he sent the spell, the man seemed to suck in a breath, pulling at the universe in a last attempt at life. The green bolt sped towards him, as fast as an arrow released from a taut bow string. As it fled its caster, the light began to falter. Its shine ripped away, the edges of the bolt shaving down to a mere core. The core diminished, sliding into nothing just before the man's face. Macnair stopped in shock. All around him, the other death eaters had the same reaction.

"Crucio!" One screamed. In a sick parody of a child's emulation of a favorite superhero, the men waved their sticks and shouted their phrases, looking frightened when nary a puff of magic was seen.

Macnair remained staring at the young man. He jumped, his heart leaping in his chest to take residence in his throat as the man's eyes shot open, mirroring the curse that had dissipated in front of him. They were calm and deadly, chilling him as they stared into his soul. What terrified him the most was not the way he looked or held himself, but more the sweet smile that grew on his face, twisting it and turning yellowed bruises. The smile was not sadistic or insane but rather sad and regretful. He seemed to take the alley in with this sadness, making Macnair tremble slightly. He wasn't sure if the smile was for the fallen people or for the future deaths of the black cloaked men before him. Macnair stepped back. Again, his foot traveled back. And then he was turning, running away. He never made it to safety.

ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ

Harry watched him turn. Watched him run and thought his death. He watched him fall, getting neither acknowledgement nor green bolt for his passing. Macnair simply ceased to live. Harry's gaze swept over the men before him. Each, he judged. The magic he had sucked out of the surrounding area slowly returned, swirling into the men's' auras and detailing their pathetic existences. Some were so corrupted and twisted that they warranted immediate death similar to Macnair's. Some were simply gray. Two, Harry noted in amusement, were purely good in their intentions and in their souls. Their guilt weigh heavily on them and Harry made sure that they retained protection from magic itself.

He dismissed the rest of them, scattering them in Africa, allowing them to live but struggle to come home. He turned his eyes to the remaining two who had given off such niceness. The distinct aura of the Hogwarts potion master was obvious to Harry but the other was more of an enigma. He cocked his head and approached, the shadows pulling at his cloak and scaring the singled out two.

He walked right up to the second and slowly lifted the man's mask, ignoring the quickened heartbeats and erratic breathing of the other as he fought not to run. Green death met Gray confusion and Harry raised an eyebrow. The colorful aura that the blonde Malfoy exuded did not match up with his memories of the snotty boy with arrogant poise and pure blooded dispositions.

"Draco." Harry said calmly in greeting. He nodded once to the potions master, "Snape."

With that, he walked to the bank, slipping inside to escape the pressing stares of the two light wizards who had survived what they felt might have been an ultimate judgment similar to those made at the pearly gates themselves.

"Sev…" Draco whispered, mask donned again so as not to be recognized by the fearful people of the alley. "It was Potter. Is he…Is he an angel?"

"I don't know." The usual sniping drawl was overlaid with awe and served only to impress upon Draco the magnitude of the situation.

"Come. I must tell Albus." Draco could only nod in agreement.

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HEY thanks for reviewing. I know I havnt updated in forever. This doesnt really have a set idea about it. I am not sure whats coming next. So i guess it takes longer for me to feel it out. I havnt been paying much attention to it anyway.

Plz review


	3. Chapter 3

A/N thank you Pazed for telling me about malfoy's sudden omnipresence.

Harry paused outside the huge double doors within the atrium of Gringotts, seeing it in a new light. As before, it impressed him with its foreboding presence. Now, however, he could see the magic in it. Most believed the doors were solid gold but Harry could see that they were not made of any material. They were a creation of magic itself. He smiled incredulously as he took in the strands of magic within them and realized that they were not made by goblins, but instead by wizards. The doors were almost sentient and the complexity behind their making is not something any modern wizard could accomplish. Age seemed to resonate off them and Harry almost bowed in respect to the long dead men who had created this masterpiece.

The gold appearance was an illusion but one which was incredibly intricate and powerful. The overlaying goblin magic which detailed the warning seemed to taint the door with its shoddiness. Despite this, the warning was highly advanced as far as modern magic went. Harry reached a hand out to the surface, almost afraid to touch the glowing magic tendrils that moved lazily throughout them. To an outsider, from the tip of his fingers a rippling would be seen. It was as though it were static and the doors almost blinked at his touch.

A slow smile dawned on Harry's face that would creep out even moody. Without another wasted moment, Harry took a full step right through the door. He appeared on the other side, still smiling and at ease. The goblin magic that had been sealing the doors crackled out of existence as the spells failed. The goblins arrayed before him were warily guarding the doors, well aware of the fighting going on outside. When they saw him and felt the wards fail, they panicked. Hollering in goblegook, they began firing off spell waves.

Goblin magic was generally done in waves and was considered weak. They were wonderful at fortifications and defense but not for offensive spells. The magic that goblins were given, however, was unlike human or even other magical creatures'. Goblins generally had to ask their magic to allow them to use it. It was very fickle and had very biased opinions.

Naturally, it took a liking to Harry immediately. The malicious intent behind its casting forgotten, the goblin magic swirled around Harry curiously, seeping through him and gathering around his mind. It lay like a happy puppy or a loyal snake, creeping and sidling around him. The air was almost tinged green with the amount of magic that was remaining in the air instead of dissipating and the goblins quickly got the memo and stopped casting. They stared in awe at Harry who had so tamed their fearsome spells. Many of the goblins in the back of the large bank room fled towards the lower levels. Harry only sighed resignedly. This curious magic would never leave him alone. He couldn't very well go sparkling green around the streets of London.

"I am not here to hurt you. I only thought id trouble you for your floo?"

Harry really didn't want to try teleporting again unless he knew he would come somewhere that wouldn't hinder him. So far he had gone to a hospital, an insane clothing store, and a death eater attack. Floo sounded relatively reliable.

"S-S-S" He waited patiently for the young goblin to stop stuttering. "S-S-Sir! You…" He only gaped but gestured shakily to a room to the left. Harry strode over and opened the door, ignoring the goblins that cowered away from him.

As he was about to go into the room that had a very large fire place, A goblin cried out, "Stop! Please, on behalf of the goblin nation I ask that you wait."

Harry turned in consideration, "What would you have with me?"

"I wish to discuss the future."

Ah. Ever the banker. "And?"

"And your part in it, My Lord."

"Very well." really, what else did he have to do? A pressing engagement perhaps? Not likely.

Harry followed the short creature to another room where tea was waiting. He gladly grabbed a cup and sipped at it, looking confidently over to the other chair as he sat down. The goblin had already seated himself and was scrutinizing his new guest.

"May I ask, if it is not too bold, what you opinion of magical creatures is, My Lord?"

Harry lifted his brows and answered, "It is not too bold. I suppose that would depend on the creature. I do not really like flobberworms because they seem to be horribly stupid. Cornish pixies are a nuisance. Gnomes equally so."

The goblin laughed, "Oh but those were not the ones I was referring to. I speak of vampires, werewolves, veelas…goblins."

Harry knew where this was going even before the goblin had finished his first question. Now he wondered how he should spin it.

"Well I would say they are human."

"Human?"

"Yes. In essence, all of those creatures are human. They have human faults, weaknesses, and intelligence. They just have a bit of a physical advantage over us mortals."

"You are mortal then?"

"I do not know." This question surprised Harry and he answered it in hesitant honesty.

The goblin seemed to contemplate this before continuing, "And would you fight for this understanding?"

"The battle of the creatures has very little to do with me. I am not acknowledged as a magical creature. The ministry cannot do anything to me."

"What would make you fight?" The goblin was getting desperate.

"Nothing can make me fight." Harry went as if to stand up.

"No, please! My Lord! Please wont you help us?"

"See Grash? All you had to do was ask. If you require help, I will assist." Harry dismissed the topic.

"You…How do you know my name? What may I call you?"

Harry paused. "Call me?"

"Who are you?"

"Who am I? I?" Harry laughed, "I…am running late. Another time."

He left, chuckling. As he grabbed for the can of powder on the fireplace in the first room, he laughed. Who am I? His laughter could be heard even as he left.

Albus Dumbledore smiled lovingly down on empty tables before him. Soon they would begin to fill up with students and a new year would commence. He turned back to his conversation with Minerva, watching out of the corner of his eye for the return of Severus. He had been called out inexplicably for another meeting with the dark lord. Albus had poppy standing by with medical assistance. He popped another piece of bread into his mouth as Minerva responded to his point about disorder charms.

Dinner slowly progressed but there wasn't any sign of Severus. It was beginning to get dark out and desert was on its way. Most of the professors knew about Severus because they were all in the order and had to work with him. Those that didn't generally didn't stay at the school year round. As Albus drew a piece of delicious lemon cake towards his mouth, the hall doors opened slightly, two dark clad bodies slipping through. White masks hanging around their necks, Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy began to walk down the lane between the hufflepuff and ravenclaw tables.

Minerva gasped, "This is highly unorthodox!"

"Indeed." was Severus' only response.

Albus understood and rose quickly, "Gentlemen, if we could adjourn to my office…"

"No Albus. It will be all over the prophet by morning."

"Sir, it was Potter!" Malfoy cut in.

"What? Harry? Is he alright?"

"Albus, the boy destroyed the death eaters. He just looked at them and they died."

"Perhaps you should begin from the beginning. I find that is always the best place."

"Very well." Both Severus and Draco grabbed chairs, slumping exhaustedly in their seats.

"We were called, headmaster. We didn't know what he wanted or we would have alerted the ministry. He declared that we would attack Diagon Alley. We did and were advancing through the crowds. There was chaos and people were dying everywhere…"

"And then Harry came." The use of the boys name from Severus told Albus the gravity of the situation.

"He came and magic…stopped. And all around us people were dying. Death Eaters were dying."

"Some were left but quickly disappeared. We do not know where they were sent. He acknowledged us…And left."

"Sometimes a memory is better understood when we experience it." Albus said, a troubled expression marring his twinkle.

"Headmaster..?"

"A pensieve, my boy."

They quickly made their way to Albus' office, almost running in earnest. They were excited to see the strange phenomena that had occurred in the Alley. The gargoyle leapt aside, allowing the headmaster and company to cruse through and up the spiral staircase. Albus went directly for the cabinet which housed the powerful pensieve that Harry had found. He drew it out, placing it on his desk and looking up at his cohorts.

"Severus, if you will."

Severus put his wand to his temple, gracefully leading away from it followed by the shiny memory. He lowered it to the Pensieve surface, allowing it to swirl and settle in.

"Alright. Put your wand in, Mr. Malfoy." He complied and all three were swept in and down upon the glittering streets of the Alley. The streets rushed towards them, people running about even as they touched the ground.

"HELP! Please someone!" A woman cried, her leg blown away by a severing hex. The Severus in the memory only stepped over her, shooting a stunner to his left. He swept down the street, eyes darting to each new casualty. Draco looked slightly sick as he took in the woman's leg laying a few feet away, still twitching. Albus was slightly stunned but hid it behind a grave mask. The attack was obviously more serious than he had at first thought. To the side, more masked figures shot killing and maiming curses, stepping brutally on the wounded. Bellatrix was battling a young man as he tried to protect a young woman. The man was brought down by a crucio and the woman was killed with a green flash. The dark witch laughed madly pushed her boot down into the corpse. They walked on. The bank seemed to loom above them, its huge marble pillars casting ominous judgment on the attackers below.

"Watch there." Severus said, pointing to the steps before the bank. "Watch. He comes there."

And then he did. With nary a pop or portkey in sight. There was no stumbling to find his footing or flash of fire to indicate a phoenix. He simply was there. His back was to Albus but his first impression was confusion. Harry? This tall, well dressed man could never be Harry. Then he turned around.

Draco gasped in remembered realization of just how horrible his eyes were. They bore into the street, sweeping it up in a glance. To their right, Macnair slashed a woman's throat. Albus watched as Macnair threw a killing curse towards Harry and almost shouted a warning.

Dodge! He thought to the young man, watching as he drew in a breath. To albus' amazement, the curse died with the breath that the young man sucked in. In fact, every curse being fired at that moment died. Albus was amazed as death eaters began hopelessly casting spells that wouldn't work.

Fascinated, Albus froze the frame. The memories around them stopped moving leaving only the 3 visitors alive. Severus walked with interest toward Harry, weaving a bit through the standing bodies. He stepped up to a few steps below Harry, looking at him closely.

"That was simply impossible! Wonderfully impossible!" Albus was saying.

"Wait till you see what comes next…" Responded Severus absentmindedly, peering closely at the boy, seeing what appeared to be bruises.

As he made his examination, he made his way up to the face. A slight smile was just beginning to grace the boy who lived's features. Severus found himself caught in the emerald gaze of the frozen memory. The eyes stared off toward Macnair but Severus could still see a great deal that hadn't been there when he last saw him. Squinting in attempted understanding, he watched the green orbs, so much like his mothers but somehow, more deadly. The eye that he was peering into swiveled toward him.

Severus' eyes widened and he stumbled back in surprise, right after a vicious swipe from the supposed memory. He had just stumbled enough out of the way of the blow, falling backwards and landing hard at the bottom of the stairs. Severus stared up at the sudden energy in the man, hard eyes calculating. This hadn't happened in his memory.

The image of Harry stalked forward slightly, looming over the potions master before flashing a sadistic grin and disappearing, leaving his very frightened professor on his ass.


	4. Chapter 4

-1Harry glared at the ice cream wrapper between his feet. He wasn't really seeing anything and the people passing him avoided looking at him. They thought, with his haggard appearance and his stolen wizarding robe that he was a homeless beggar. His eyes wrinkled around the edges slightly as he remembered his escape with amusement.

He had been trying to get somewhere in London where he could disappear. The only floo addresses he knew, however, were less than appealing. He knew Mrs. Figg's address but was loath to reappear on Privet Drive in some chance that Vernon would find him and make him pay for his disappearance. He knew 12 Grimald Place but Harry doubted he could walk into the building much less out of it without an order member finding him and bringing him back to the Dursleys' dungeon. The Leaky Cauldron would be swarming with aurors after the fiasco he left the alley in and he didn't fancy being caught by them either. The Burrow was full of memories and people he did not want to see just now. He wasn't sure why, but the Weasleys didn't seem like a good idea. The headmaster's office was like stepping into the oder's arms with a large welcome home. That only left the ministry of magic. Maybe it hadn't been his best idea.

Harry stepped out of the large fireplace on one side of the Atrium, noting that the statues in the fountain had been replaced with a single one of Merlin with his staff. Harry snorted, deciding the statue was a symbol of humanities increasing delusion about their own power and their superiority above magical creatures. He walked casually towards the exit into muggle London. The phone booth was about 100 yards away, beckoning to him.

People swarmed the area in between, the usual bustle of a busy ministry with countless legal matters and complaints to deal with. Added to that was the presence of many small groups of highly official looking wizards. Some nervously twiddled with their wands, others simply stood looking bored. One by one, the aurors disappeared into a fireplace, their commanders shouting out orders. Harry didn't recognize very many of them for which he was grateful. Hopefully, they wouldn't recognize him.

He trudged right through the crowd of aurors, finding that was the straightest line to the booth. He caught a few snippets of conversation as he passed.

"…Killed a bunch of innocents. Find him…"

"We only know that he had a dark appearance. He could…"

"…saved most of the people's lives!"

Harry grinned slightly. It sounded like the ministry didn't know what to think about him. And they obviously didn't know that it was Harry Potter either. He walked on, keeping his head down and grinning to himself at the irony.

"YOU! Where's your robe? No matter, take this one." A rough hand grabbed his upper arm and duplicated the owner's robe with a muttered spell. He shoved it mostly on over Harry's shoulders, causing him to growl but put it on the rest of the way anyway. "You're part of the green team, right? Ok everyone listen up."

The man dragged Harry into a group of very young looking recruits. Harry even thought he recognized a few graduated students from earlier years at Hogwarts. He tried to look as inconspicuous as possible, thinking furiously of an escape plan.

"You are to console the families. You are not to tell them what really happened. Only say that death eaters attacked and that they were caught. If they ask a difficult question, say that you are not at liberty to say or that the situation is still being processed. Doubtless, the minister will make a statement in the prophet tomorrow morning."

"But…But sir!" one young man piped up, reminding Harry a little of Neville. "What really did happen?"

The senior auror grimaced, "Some dark wizard or fearsome devil in human form appeared. He killed all of the death eaters. We don't know how. We arrived right after the incident but found all of them dead with very few witnesses."

"But isn't that good?"

"Someone who kills so relentlessly…is no good in my book. Come! It's time!"

He dove into the fireplace, giving the address for the leaky cauldron and disappeared with the flames. Harry took the opportunity to walk away from the gathered aurors. He was grateful for the black robe because it blended in much better with the witches and wizards running about the atrium. He walked right to the booth and dialed the code, lifting out onto the street. He walked right by the worried figure of Arthur Weasley as he hurried into the ministry.

The fish opened and closed its mouth at him, mocking its own existence. It was chased away quickly but Harry didn't notice. The aquarium he had entered was expensive and artfully designed. The bench he had claimed was equally artistic. The trash on the ground was the result of human fault and negligence. Harry sighed. Soon, he would be evicted and he would have to play displaced beggar. Deciding dereliction was unworthy, Harry took off his wizard robe, shrunk it, and pocketed it in full view of many muggles. No one called him on the obvious display of magic. Muggles really were blind.

Harry strode out of the building he had spent the last hour enjoying in his rich man persona. He caught a cab and directed it towards a certain department store. He needed medical attention. He could feel his body beginning to fail. Harry just hoped no one recognized him. Fat chance of that, he thought to himself. The bloody scar on your forehead, the green eyes, the glasses, the black hair; none of these will give it away. It'll be your bloody hero complex when someone is half dead and you try to 'heal' them by nearly killing yourself. Again.

Harry pursed his lips. He needed to look a bit different. Letting the idea swirl around his magically enhanced mind, Harry closed his eyes. He allowed It to happen. The taxi looked at his client oddly. He was sure he had a different person back there but the day was all just blending together. He had been on duty for 13 hours already and he was beginning to lose his head. Without comment he took the young man's money and left.

Harry grinned at the mannequin of St. Mungo's. Entering the hospital, Harry found it busy with patients from Diagon Alley. Apparently there was a back up on healers because Harry could see some people with cuts and bruises whimpering in waiting rooms who had not yet been treated, despite the fact that the attack had occurred over an hour and a half ago. Harry strolled into the waiting area, approaching the desk at the far end.

"Ma'am."

"Name?"

"Jimmy McGuire." It was all he could think of.

"Nature of injury?"

"Hurting?"

"…" The woman glanced up for the first time, clearly not amused. She was busy with paperwork and didn't appreciate the man's cheek.

Harry tried again, "Some old wounds that I have not tended are catching up with me."

The woman pursed her lips and muttered a status spell, sweeping her wand over him. Caught by surprise, Harry forced himself to allow the spell to complete its task instead of disintegrating the intrusion as he wanted.

"You…" The woman gasped as a red glow tinged the air around Harry. "You should be unconscious! Dead! Screaming in pain!"

"Why, thank you."

"Is this from the Alley?"

"No. These injuries are unrelated."

"Alice! We have a red! Get Medi Witch Snape down here now!"

Harry raised an eyebrow at the name. Snape had some relatives? The idea of Snape ever having a family never crossed Harry's mind. It amused him.

"Shall I wait in the waiting room then?"

The receptionist could only gape before the Medi Witch (with a hook nose and long black hair) came running and ushered him off to an emergency room.

Harry grinned from his seat on a hospital bed. Magic really was a wonderful thing. It allowed him to see where the medical team was going with their spells. Harry memorized the weavings and directed power into the spells. He disintegrated any sleep spell or potion, wishing to remain conscious so that he could help the spells. He waited out the magical probes which fixed heavy internal bleeding and winced as they mended his newly torn lung. He felt the magic threads soaking into his body and he allowed them to fix his body better. Giving the magic itself an idea as to what the weavings meant sped up the process as well.

Now, supposedly bedridden for two weeks, Mr. J. McGuire was as healthy as he could be, rosy glow and all. They only thing the magic couldn't do very well was give his body nutrients. Harry forced himself to down nutrient rich potions that weren't magical but instead merely good for him.

The witches at the hospital had been horrified at the things carved into his skin and the scabbed over scars. Now they were only white scarred words. Harry had told them nothing, dealing with it by denial and feigned ignorance. Now, with the sleeping potion he should be asleep. Instead, Harry was making his escape. He really was sick of hospitals.

Harry crept down the hallway outside his room, pulling on one of his new shirts as he went. His camo bag was slung over one shoulder and he walked quietly to the end of the hall. Looking at the doors, Harry discovered that he was in the severe trauma ward. This was where they put the insane ones or the spell damage ones. They obviously thought he wasn't of sound mind. Harry chuckled. It wouldn't be far from the truth. Was his mind even human anymore? Was it ever?

He froze as a nurse walked toward him. She paid him no mind, only opening a door a few feet away and entering, swinging it shut. The door paused an inch away from the door jam and Harry allowed his curiosity to bring him to the crack. There, beds done up neatly and pillows pre-fluffed, lay Alice and Frank Longbottom.

Harry frowned and backed away. They looked horrible. Both had a listless expression on their faces, looking like they could not focus on anything. The nurse busied herself with something on the bedside of Alice, letting Harry see the extent of their misfortune. Their bodies were depleted from their auror days and lines had appeared on their faces. Compared to the pictures that Harry had in his scrapbook before Vernon burned it, the Longbottoms looked far worse than dead. Likely, their existence was not far from that.

What can you do, Potter? What could possibly help them. Harry hurried away down the hall, ignoring the other doors in the ward. He nearly ran out of the front door, relieved no one stopped him or questioned him. Leave this place. Leave them and leave their misery. It is not yours.

Harry trotted down the street, ignoring the passersby. Like before, they gave him a wide berth. He needed somewhere to stay. Somewhere nice and inconspicuous. Harry snickered. Well, how about the most expensive apartment in London? If anything, his laughter unnerved the pedestrians even more.

After leaving the manager a hundred thousand dollars as a down payment on a new hotel room, Harry Evans found himself the proud renter of an apartment in the Hyperion Hotel.

He surveyed his new hideout with a critical eye. The thought of returning to the order didn't even cross his mind. This place was fine and it would be adequate. Staircases on either side of the room led up to small interior balconies or lofts. A door on the main floor led into a kitchen and another led to an empty room. The lofts had an entertainment area and bed respectively. In front of him, between the staircases, were the magnificently framed windows that looked out on London.

A thought changed the color scheme to dark mahoganies and greens. Another imported warm furniture and kitchenware. Ignoring the bed in the loft, Harry swung himself easily up onto the opposite loft. There, He curled up in the very corner, completely invisible from anywhere else in the apartment. Knees at his chin, Harry fell into a restless slumber.

The apartment was quiet. The moon was close to setting and reckless teenagers with convertibles revved their engines in the deathly quiet streets. Harry's eyes snapped open. With an inward sigh, he cautiously moved to a stand, taking in his surroundings and assuring himself that no one was there. No one, he mused, would ever be there. If they were…they wouldn't be much longer. Harry wasn't sure if he meant someone coming to kill him or someone coming to love him…The first he would kill. The second would find he was already dead.

He walked to the balcony and fisted his hands on the rail, leaning out. He didn't doubt what he needed to do. He knew he would never sleep if he didn't do it. Silently, he pursed his lips in annoyance, and flickered out. The apartment was left empty.

Severus shot up in bed, panting. His eyes dilated and his body shaking, he brought his hands to his face. What had it been? Some spirit that infected pensieves? A shadow of Potter himself? Severus sighed and relaxed his shoulders, still trembling slightly. He made a decision and got himself up, grabbing a cloak. He exited his rooms in the dungeons of Hogwarts and strode up into the halls of the main building. He needed to cool off and think.

Slowing slightly, he contemplated the occurrence. It must have been Potter. It struck Severus that no spirit would behave 'in character' and actually try to be as frightening as the boy had been in the street. Likely, a spirit would have jumped him or run away. This thing seemed to find Severus' fear amusing. He snorted, wishing he had somehow acted a bit more gryffindor and stood up to his looming pupil.

Severus stopped cold. Blast it Potter! Only you would be able to make me actually wish I was a gryffindor! He huffed and, using the confidence this familiar action lent him, he straightened and relaxed a bit more before gliding away with new purpose. Severus found himself in a short corrider with high windows that looked out over the grounds. There, eyes twinkling in the moonlight, in star and moon pajamas complete with night cap, stood a very thoughtful Albus Dumbledoor.

"Headmaster."

"Ah, Severus. I was wondering whether you would be out tonight."

"I wasn't able to sleep very well." He admitted.

"Great things are coming, my boy. Even the most secure of men would be foolish to sleep soundly on this, the night of change."

"I wasn't aware that you were a seer, Headmaster." Severus responded sourly. He didn't like the sound of the old man's dithering.

"No, no I am not a seer. Just an old wizard." there was a period of silence, then "I am afraid for Harry."

Severus snorted, "What has the Golden Boy have to lose? He is so pampered and loved, he is probably just throwing a fit."

Albus looked over at him, eyes twinkling knowingly. Severus' unseated expression gave the lie to his words. "Perhaps he has come to his majority. His birthday passed a few weeks ago."

"If he were that powerful, we would have felt a magical surge. I don't think Potter has enough intelligence to channel that much energy. It would blow him up like one of Longbottom's potions experiments."

"No." he agreed, "He is too young to gain his inheritance. What has given him such power? Oh, Harry. What have you done?" Albus stared mournfully out into the night.

"What…What could he have done?"

"I fear that he has made friends in the wrong places. I fear that he has crossed a line…that can never be undone."

"You think he has made a pact with a monster?" Snape asked in horror. "You fool Potter! You always were an idiot."

"I tried, Severus." Albus said, allowing his years to show through. "I tried to keep him good. I taught him about the light and placed him among his family. I gave him friends who could show him how wonderful both the wizarding and muggle worlds really are. Where did I go wrong? My poor boy, where did I go wrong?"

Severus was silent. He looked out to the forest where, little by little, the tips of the trees were beginning to light up.

"There is someone at the gate." Albus' curious tone broke the mood he had set with his pleadings.

"Who?"

"I do not know. Nothing urgent. Come Severus. We must attend to this business and then…make plans."

Harry crept through the halls, making sure his bare feet didn't squeak on the clean tiles. He made his way up to the fourth floor, instinctually avoiding magical alarms and traps. He even managed to avoid the more physical problems like loose tiles and loud doors. He sighed gratefully as he arrived at the right ward. No one would be down this corridor tonight. The patients here did not need help and weren't in immediate danger of dying. And if they did, it wasn't like it mattered very much. It didn't make any difference to anyone.

Harry opened the door with a thought and walked sedately inside. Alice was awake and looking off towards her husband, not seeing him at all. Frank was lightly snoring and didn't seem like he had a care in the world. Harry wasn't sure what to do now. Obviously medi magic hadn't worked. He needed something else. Harry grimaced and sat down. He'd obviously have to think about it.

Well what is wrong with them? He wondered, looking with disgust as Alice drooled onto the ground next to him, still staring toward her husband and consequently through Harry's gut. They have no minds. Then Harry blinked. His Magic didn't agree. It drew him out and Harry followed, watching in interest as it wrapped him into Alice's mind. See? It showed him. See? It demanded. They did have minds. Their brains could function and their bodies could follow. But the mind itself…was twisted. Magic didn't really seem to care. It saw its own threads tying the mind up, connecting parts of the brain that didn't want to connect, laying over parts that looked like they should be connected instead. It showed Harry the bits of magic that held the mess together. It looked like, if they were to be cut, the mind itself would unravel anyway, not having the natural connections anymore. Harry was confused. I don't want those connection there anymore, he explained to himself. I want the mind to be whole and alive. Not magical.

Suddenly, his energy began to build. Uh oh, He thought. Tension in the room grew, waking Frank who let out a gargle. Beads of sweat formed on Harry's forehead as he housed the growing magics. See? Magic asked. See? Yes I bloody well see, Harry said in his mind. Magic needed help from him in order to accomplish this. It grabbed him around his thoughts like a mother would grab a child's arms and guide him. It grabbed him and hoisted him up, away from himself and his grounding. Out, it said.

Harry's mind was put on Alice's. The two melded in a physical sense but remained apart otherwise. Harry wasted no time. He grabbed the magic threads in his mind that connected horrible things together that he didn't want to understand. He grabbed the threads that took over the other natural threads and he pulled. He pulled and twisted, feeling like he was trying to pull the plug on a computer. Harry stopped, panting. He could feel that someone was still pulling on the threads, even if he was not. Alice's mind wanted to get out. It needed to get out and was pulling at the threads even as he was. Alice had probably been at it for years. It wont work that way then.

Harry took a new approach. He looked at the magic sternly. You need to be gone, he thought furiously, hoping his sway over magic would let it comply. If anything, his Magic bubbled up in laughter. So that wont work then. Unhappy at the entire situation, Harry grabbed his Magic and thrust it at the threads. It was absorbed and Harry was dragged along with it. Great. Just bloody--Harry screamed, his mind triggering with agony as he felt the full wash of the threads over his system.

In the hospital room, Harry's head was thrown back and his scream echoed in the building. Alice whimpered in the bed next to him. Ropes of power were arching around the room, whipping with Harry at the center. Though completely invisible, the ropes could be felt as they slashed and flailed. A large pulsing connected Alice to Harry.

This is how the cruciatus works! Harry thought, grinning as he ordered the pain away. The spell magically connected pain receptors to the casting, allowing it to trigger them constantly. If it was held on someone for too long, the connections remained permanent, blocking the body from regaining its senses and thoughts even though the casting wasn't triggering pain any longer. Harry grinned and focused on the end of the threads all around him. Disconnect. Magic complied.

Harry shot himself right into Frank's mind, not even bothering going through the steps of putting his own mind back into his body before overlaying it with Frank's. DISCONNECT! He ordered, thundering at the threads. He didn't even have to focus, so great was his power over the magic that it simply obeyed without question or resistance.

Triumph coursed through him as he returned to his own body. Opening his eyes, he saw Mrs. Longbottom arching off the bed, eyes wide staring up at the ceiling. She acted like a fish out of water, gasping and desperately trying to move. Her eyes whirled wildly at the ceiling, uncertain of where she was or how to work her body at all. The greatest thing, Harry thought, was that she was aware of it. Her minds unused natural connections were trying to reform. It would take time. Frank was half turning onto his stomach, head leaning over the side of the bed, and hands clutching desperately at the mattress. His eyes were also wide and fearful.

Harry smiled as he noted the hallway lights flaring to life and shouting coming from the far end. It was beautiful really. Outside of Frank's mind, Harry understood what he had done even though he hadn't known when he performed it. Sending out pieces of himself to everywhere that he found mental connections in the building, he ordered in a whisper that echoed crazily in the realms of magic "Disconnect."

Magic was delighted, if such an emotion could be labeled to such a force. Its power poured eagerly from Harry, glad to be used in such quantity and intensity, no matter the reason or intent. The people in the hall stopped in surprise as they felt the magic which they had sensed from before suddenly occur all around them instead of just the one room housing the Longbottoms. They began again, hurrying quickly down the hall to the room anyway. There was the gasping pair.

The doctors among the group ordered restraints and tests and everyone was busy as one young apprentice witnessed Alice look to him and mouth a disjointed "Thank You." before jerking uncontrollably again.


	5. Chapter 5

"Ah, how are you my dear boy? Is your summer going well?"

"Fine, sir."

"Lemon drop?"

"No thank you, sir. Sir, if it's not to bold to ask, why am I here?"

"Well as your headmaster, I thought it was best that I inform you of a rather fortunate turn of events."

"Sir…?"

"Indeed, a most wonderful recuperation. Marvelous really. You should be very proud of them."

"I don't understand, sir."

"Why, it's your parents my boy. Through a very new and experimental magic, the medics at St. Mungo's managed to revive them from their mindless comas." Dumbledore smile benignly at the boy, as though he were the benefactor of this miracle.

Neville stared in shock at his headmaster. Had they really been cured? What kind of cruel joke was this?

"Wh…"

"I know it is a great deal to go through but you should confront them with love. It will be a shock to them to see how much you have grown." Dumbledore let his eyes twinkle happily over at Neville. "Now. There is a pot of flu powder over the mantelpiece. I trust you remember the St. Mungo's visiting address? Good. Off you go."

As though in a dream, Neville approached the fireplace and was whisked off to a very familiar entrance hall where chaos ensued.

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"Sir?"

…

"Sir, wake up."

What was that?

"Sir, please wake up. Don't be dead. Don't be dead. Please don't be dead."

Why not?

"Please…please…"

Well if you insist.

Harry breathed.

And then Harry felt the fire of pain as his lungs drew air into them where they had been stiffly deflated. His body convulsed as muscle twitched and neural axons fired with life. He coughed, his body rolling to the side as his lungs fished for oxygen.

"…fuck." He said, barely able to breathe the syllable.

His eyes, which had previously been facing generally toward the pavement, directed themselves upward where he saw the crouched figure of a very frightened little boy ten feet away. Scared by his convulsions, the boy had a panicky look to him as though he would dash away at any moment. He rocked in indecision, looking to Harry fearfully.

Harry sighed and tried to calm down as he gained power over his motor functions. Painfully, he hoisted himself onto his knees and slowly made his way to a standing position. Not making any move towards the boy, Harry addressed him "Hey thanks kid, I just had a rough night." Harry had his hands on his knees and he was the epitome of exhaustion. He beckoned the boy over saying, "Don't worry. I couldn't hurt you if I tried. C'mere"

The boy nearly refused but he was trained by his elders to always obey. He came a little closer and Harry was satisfied that he had his ear.

"Hey, I'll buy you an ice cream to make up for it. Sound ok?"

Harry didn't wait for an answer, walking stiffly around the corner of the nearest building. Impossibly, there was an ice cream vender on the other side. The boy, peaking around the corner, smiled delightedly and trotted up to it.

Harry grinned and ordered 2 double chocolate magnums. He paid and grabbed the bars, handing one to the boy and collapsed tiredly down on a bench to eat it. The boy nearly ignored his ice cream, staring up at Harry. Aware of his scrutiny, Harry ate with relish and intensity, appearing to be in love with the magnum bar.

"This has never been anywhere near here." The boy observed, half gesturing toward the parked ice cream van.

Harry looked surprised and looked over at the vender. "Oh? Maybe he travels a lot."

The boy slowly peeled the wrapper from the sweet and began eating. He was at first tentative but then grew more vehement and swift as he realized it was ok.

As both ice creams were finished, Harry spoke again, "You're going to go to a really nice school in the fall."

"Huh?"

"You were accepted to Hogwarts. It is the most prestigious school in the United Kingdom. Can you hold on until then?"

"I…What? I don't understand."

"When's your birthday, kid?"

"Today, Sir."

"Oh yea? Happy Birthday. When they ask if you want to go, say yes. And stay there. Until I come back to get you on September 1st, stay there. Ok?"

The boy looked down, and then glanced up to see an owl winging overhead in the direction of St. Kathy's Orphanage. When he looked back down, the strange man was gone. He looked to the salesman who smiled reassuringly at him.

"Where'd he go?"

The man didn't answer, continuing to wipe down his counter. The boy got up and ran around the corner, looking left and right. The man had completely disappeared. The boy turned around and jerked in surprise. The vender along with the salesman was completely gone.

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Neville stepped out of the familiar hospital fireplace and into a nightmare of angry, shouting people.

"Why can't I see her? I am her mother for Merlin's sake! Let a mother see her only child!"

"Sir, you're being unreasonable, surely we can just go and say hello? It has been a year after all."

"The Ministry will hear of this! It's not right, I tell you! Not right at all!"

Neville stayed to the edge of the crowd, looking towards the double doors leading to the stairs. They were guarded by nurses, all trying to calm the crowd down. Numerous times, a young witch used the sonorous charm and asked for silence and order but the people did not heed her. There were frightened children pressed against the walls and everywhere people were crying. If Neville didn't already know the cause was (probably) a happy one, he would think that there had been a massacre somewhere.

Reporters were in and among the crowd, shooting pictures with large cameras and flash bulbs. Neville saw Rita Skeeter with her face next to her quill, trying to get the dictation spell to hear her and not the distraught family members of supposedly comatose people.

He spotted a nurse speaking with a mediwizard, talking in low tones and listening intently. Neville followed the man with his eyes and saw him speak with the young female nurse before getting up on a chair and addressing the crowd.

Through the angry shouts, he said "If I could have your attention, please!"

The noise remained at a constant volume: Loud.

The nurse continued, despite his unwilling audience. "As you know, the occupants of St. Mungo's Spell Damage Ward have recently had a very startling development. Even now, they are undergoing a series of tests and treatments that will hopefully give us details about their sudden change in status. Though it appears that they are recovered we wish to ensure their continued health and increase their nutrition and muscle consistency to cope with being awake. To this end, we ask that you wait patiently. As each person is examined, we will call the names of the patients so that his or her family members may visit. We will not release them, nor will we take bribes to do so. Please sit down and calm down so that we might expedite the process. Also, those of you that are here because of Diagon Alley should move on to waiting room number 4. Thank You."

As the nurse spoke, the crowd slowly began to pay attention. When he finished, they surged up again but at least half began to look around for suitable seating to wait for their loved one's name to be called.

Neville found a place toward the back of the room, pulling into himself and waiting for his mother or father's name. His face was expressionless and not even the screams of babies could touch him in the trance that he found himself in. How could this be? Unconsciously, he looked around for the person who had done this for him. How could this be? And what was that about Diagon Alley?

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Students and professors,

It is with great sadness and regret that I inform you of a most grievous massacre that has occurred in Diagon Alley. Yesterday, A group of death eaters, presumably on the orders of Voldemort, invaded Diagon Alley and began to attack innocent shoppers. The death toll has reached 30 and may continue to climb as those most seriously injured struggle to survive. The Minister of Magic intends to have a press conference this morning to hopefully shed some light on the matter. Among the dead are 5 of our comrades, 3 parents of students, and the majority were Hogwarts alumni. Our love and grief goes out to them and their families.

For those students that no longer wish to buy school equipment in the alley, a second option has been made available by the Alley shop owners. On the first day of term, a market will be held on school grounds where students are permitted to buy the necessary items. Summer assignment deadlines have been extended for two weeks.

Remember, with hope we can overcome even the most daunting of tasks.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Supreme Mugwump

Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry

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Remus nervously approached the door. He wasn't sure how the Weasley's would react to his arrival. He was there on business and as such, did not think he would be well received.

He straightened his shabby vest and raised his hand, using the large lion's head to knock on the door 3 times. Remus could hear the knocks echoing in the tall house, feeling the ominous spell that the burrow seemed to be under.

"Yes?" Mrs. Weasley opened the door and poked her head outside, her eyes bloodshot and her nose as red as her hair.

"Molly…" Remus started, unwilling to burden her with order news.

"Oh Remus. Please come in. I can make you—I can make you a spot of tea."

Remus entered the forlorn house, his mouth firm and distressed. He accepted Mrs. Weasley's invitation to sit down and settled himself, feeling awkward and out of place. He had never felt so much like an outsider in the Weasley's ancestral home before and it saddened him that things had deteriorated so badly. He caught a glimpse of green peeking around the corner, the youngest Weasley checking to see who had come to visit. She had tear tracks down her face and her hair was in disarray. She had a vacant expression and did not seem to care that he had come into her house and invaded her mourning. She left quickly, silent like the grave as she went up the stairs.

Mrs. Weasley returned with a tray, carrying it in both hands and concentrating on not dropping it. She laid it on the low table in front of Remus and folded her hands in her lap, giving him a tight smile.

"How are you holding up Molly?" Remus asked.

"It is not easy to lose a child Remus, but I get by." She said, in a warbling voice. "Now Arthur however, is taking this very hard. And my poor Ginny doesn't know what to do with herself. Charlie and Bill will arrive tomorrow for the ceremony so I hope they can help her."

"I'm so sorry Molly. I couldn't imagine the pain of losing…"

"Oh I imagine you understand most of it Remus. James and Sirius Black were very close to you. Now, what was it that you wanted to talk about?"

"The order…has called a meeting for this afternoon. We are going to discuss this new threat, and the attack on the Alley. Severus should be coming back with You-Know-Who's opinion on the matter."

"Yes. Yes, of course."

"The meeting is at 4. If you cant make it—"

"I can make it. I just need to collect myself. Arthur will not be attending."

Remus stood to go. "And Molly, if there is anything I can do..."

"Thank you. I just need to get my affairs in order. I have so many letters to write. And poor Harry! He will be destroyed to hear that Ron…That his best friend…" She burst into tears, waving towards Remus. "It's fine, it's fine. Thank you Remus."

Crying, she led him to the door and smiled with a great deal of strain through her tears, saying goodbye and shutting him away from the burrow.

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Draco slowly woke and stretch, blinking blurrily in the low light. He scrunched his forehead and lifted his eyebrows, his eye lids still heavy from sleep. He slowly got dressed and then approached the window. He prepared himself and opened the drapes, wincing at the bright morning light. Rolling his shoulders and cracking his jaw, he went to the bathroom and showered.

Trotting down the stairs of Malfoy Manor, Draco remembered the events of the day before. Likely, His father would have been killed in that attack if not for the fact that he was still in Azkaban. Draco wasn't sure how he felt about that. He almost thought his father deserved it.

Draco sat down and swallowed a gulp of coffee before opening the morning's paper. He expected the attack to be on the front cover and so was shocked to see that, instead of mass murder and flying spells, the picture was actually of a swarm of people in the atrium of St. Mungo's Hospital. Was the Daily Prophet taking a different approach to covering the incident, covering the stories of the families instead of the attack itself?

As Draco read he became more and more intrigued. It was another story altogether. Someone or something had triggered some kind of magic blast that cured the patients in St Mungo's Spell Damage Ward. Draco was not fooled by the "breakthrough in medical research" that the Prophet was trying to spout. More likely, they had all woken up and no one knew how or why. Beneath the pretty phrasing and repetition, Draco could see that the reporter who wrote this article (Brad Bugner) had no idea of what had happened other than the miraculous awakening.

Draco quickly shoved the rest of his toast in his mouth and decided to investigate. He had nothing better to do on a summer morning and he had the sneaking suspicion that two impossible feats of magic could not occur within hours of one another and not be linked. Draco especially wanted to find out what was going on with Harry Potter.

He apparated to the entrance of St. Mungo's in muggle London. The street was suspiciously bare, giving Draco a sense of foreboding. St. Mungo's wouldn't increase the muggle repellent charms unless it were swamped. He walked through the glass of the department store and into a wall of noise. Just as he entered, he saw a nurse get up on a chair and make an announcement about maintaining order. Draco looked around for a seat as he was instructed. He wasn't sure what he would do but if he wanted any kind of information, he would have to wait until someone was willing and had time enough to talk to him from the medical staff.

Draco saw Neville Longbottom and hesitated before approaching the boy. It seemed that Neville was in his own little world, disbelieving the idea that his parents might be sane. The implications of what this would mean for Neville were not lost on Draco. He knew all about the Longbottoms being tortured into insanity in front of their infant son. He had often seen the expressions on both Potter's and Longbottom's faces on Halloween night. They appeared depressed and regretful. Both never really noticed the other's grief, so caught up in their own annual retreat.

"Longbottom." Draco said neutrally, sitting down next to him in a plastic seat nailed to the wall.

Neville blinked and looked over to see Draco Malfoy leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, waiting and looking around at the milling people and crying children. He chose not to respond but to simply look on with curiosity.

Draco set up a high quality privacy ward. It didn't look out of place as most of the families were using their own wards to conspire and grieve behind.

"Longbottom," Draco tried again, "I've been a prick in the past, so I apologize. Right now though, I'd like to know how you are doing with all of this." He gestured in the direction of the ward.

Unable to entertain any real sort of emotion, Neville took the apology and concern in stride and adopted the attitude of his Slytherin companion, saying "I don't really know. The whole thing is a little unreal. You do not add a whit of sanity."

"How did you find out about this? Did you read it in the paper?"

"No. Dumbledore summoned me all the way from Longbottom Mansion to tell me the news. He made it look like he was God's hand and had somehow cured my parents. Merlin, but I can't believe it…my parents…"

"It seems like fate is out to help you, Longbottom. I mean, Dumbledore is an ass sometimes but your parents are ok and Lestrange is dead. I guess a wrong has been righted and someone out there is finally pulling for you."

Draco's nonchalant tone gave the news a conversational feel as though he weren't talking about confidential information or the failures of the greatest wizard of this century.

Neville frowned and sat up straight, "Lestrange is dead?"

"Yea. Didn't you hear? There was an attack on the Alley. Lestrange and a bunch of others were killed."

"Shit. The order stopped them? The ministry?"

"Nope. Careful about this because only three people know but I figure with all of this shite, you deserve to know as well. Potter came and killed all of the death eaters. He destroyed them with a single look."

"Harry…So you were in the attack?"

Draco nodded gravely.

"I'm sorry you had to do that." Neville said, surprising Draco. He shot Neville a questioning look.

"It would be hard to do. How were you not killed with the others?"

"I don't know. H---Potter didn't exactly tell me."

"LONGBOTTOM, ALICE. LONGBOTTOM, FRANK!" The nurse's voice called out over the room.

Neville sat still on his chair, staring straight ahead. His parent's names had been called but Neville couldn't get himself to move. The distraction that Malfoy had provided shot from his mind as the current issue reared its confrontational head.

"Longbottom? That's you. Hey, Longbottom! Neville!"

"Huh?"

"Come on." Draco grabbed Neville's arm and got him up and walking. Draco pushed the boy forward slightly, trying to get him to move on his own steam. Neville shuffled his footing more unsure and his expression more fearful and lost than Draco had ever seen it.

He sighed and took him by the arm again, leading him to the desk to get registered and admitted to see his parents animated for the first time in his remembered life.

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Yea I know, there is less badass Harry in this one. Plus im a million years overdue. What can I blame? work, life, living in a foreign country without internet, laziness, forgetfulness, disinterest...you not reviewing enough...lots of things. But im not going to. I was an ass and this didnt come out when it should have. Sorry.

I know Draco is a little out of character here but I wasnt feeling him being snarky right here. Anyway, I was considering him for a possible pairing. But i dont like the idea of super magical harry having a partner. So If there is anything there, it will be a really weird relationship. It will barely be suggested. Or it wont at all. At the very least I think im going to use draco to look in on Harry's life and to be there when Harry isnt.

I dont think this is a posibility but it might become some crazy love story between the two. Dont stop reading until it happens (cuz i dont think it will).

Anyway, i have no idea where this is going. But then, I guess niether do you so that's exciting at least.


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